


Et ma fleur

by islasands



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 14:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12170622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islasands/pseuds/islasands
Summary: "L'étranger" by Charles de Baudelaire with translation"Qui aimes-tu le mieux, homme énigmatique, dis? ton père, ta mère, ta sour ou ton frère?Je n'ai ni père, ni mère, ni sour, ni frère.Tes amis?Vous vous servez là d'une parole dont le sens m'est resté jusqu'à ce jour inconnu.Ta patrie?J'ignore sous quelle latitude elle est située.La beauté?Je l'aimerais volontiers, déesse et immortelle.L'or?Je le hais comme vous haïssez Dieu.Eh! qu'aimes-tu donc, extraordinaire étranger?J'aime les nuages ... les nuages qui passent ... là-bas ... là-bas ... les merveilleux nuages!""Tell me, enigmatic stranger, whom do you love the best? Your father,your mother,your sister,your brother?I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.Your friends?You are using a word whose meaning remains unknown to me to this very day.Your country?I do not know under what latitude it lies.Beauty?I would love her gladly, goddess and immortal.Gold?I hate it as much as you hate God.Well then! What do you love, extraordinary stranger?I love the clouds ... the passing clouds ... over there ... over there ... the marvellous clouds!"





	Et ma fleur

"L'étranger" by Charles de Baudelaire

Performed by Léo Ferré 

 

  


 

 

As he walked along Adam pushed his shades back and opened the text message. 

“Souvenez-vous de moi ? Je me souviens de vous. Et je vous veux. De nouveau.” 

Adam took a few more steps and then stood stock still. He frowned. He looked around. He read the text again.

Who was this? Adam ran the French through his mind. “Souvenez. Souviens. Souvenir! Okay, I get it. It means ‘remember’.” And then he thought “Oh fuck!”

For now he read the text with both understanding and his heart racing. “Do you remember me? I remember you. And I want you. Again.”

Again! His mind flew back... 

Paris had not been as trippy as he thought it would be. Daytime he had followed the usual tourist itinerary – the Eiffel and the Louvre, of course, and then the Champs Elysee, Place de la Concorde, Jardin des Tuileries. It was beautiful, he was sure, but he was too tired to take any of it in and he didn’t care. It was a relief to be cast adrift in a foreign city, to be free from the unremitting focus of the tour. By night, still in the same floating zone, he went to clubs with friends, some of whom were new friends who had flown from other countries to join him – as in, really join him. The sex had been great, but too hurried to make any lasting impression. It was more like the taste of water when you’re parched; it pours into you like air, - a pure flavourless necessity. 

And then on the eve of his return flight to America – there was Yves. Their paths had crossed early in the evening when Adam had to squeeze past him to get to the bar. Adam had turned side on, and sidled through the narrow gap, when a hand gripped his waist. He found himself chest to chest and eye to eye with a stranger who merely glanced at him before pulling him to his side - as though he belonged at that side – and then carried on talking to his friend. Not only did it happen so fast that the embrace seemed oddly natural, but the immediate inclusion of Adam as part of the conversation caught Adam off guard. 

“Oh. Beau garçon! De tels yeux!” the stranger’s friend reached out and traced half circles under Adam’s eyes. The stranger pulled him closer. He took Adam’s jaw in his hand and forced his face around. “De telles lèvres,” he murmured. And still holding Adam’s jaw, he kissed those lips, a soft kiss that closed with a little pop as he drew away. Adam laughed and disengaged. “I’m sorry,” he said. “but I can’t stay. Much as I would like to.” He aimed the last remark directly to the stranger who merely shrugged and immediately turned back to his friend. 

As he continued pushing his way through the crowd Adam could hardly believe the feeling of fire in his groin. His face was burning too. That little pop after the kiss – and the way the stranger had scanned his face, his hair, his throat as he pulled Adam’s jaw, not once meeting his eyes, quite simply and coolly appraising his appearance. Nothing else. Adam found his friends. He leaned on the bar and downed shots. He toyed with the jacket lapels of the pretty boy who would share his bed that night. He was very pretty. Blonde. Tiny. A blue-eyed version of another boy he liked to kiss. He clutched the boy’s jacket and roughly pulled him towards the dance floor. He had the sudden urge – one he hadn’t felt in a while – to fuck this boy to smithereens. Put him to the lunge of his cock and break him to a trot. 

They moved out onto the dancefloor. As they moved to the music Adam raised the boys wrist and eyed him while he sucked the underside of his wrist, knowing exactly where to graze his teeth to make the nerves spark. He slid his hand around to grip the boy's buttock, digging his fingers into the crease. The boy clenched his teeth and sucked in his breath. Adam tightened his hold on the wrist and forced the boy to touch himself as he pushed it down to the boy’s erection. He twisted his finger deeper into the crease - threw his head back, sneering at the thought of it, then abruptly released the boy, letting go of him completely while he moved away and began to dance. 

The feeling of being cast adrift flooded his mind. The music entered his cells. The fire in his groin felt less like flames and more like a glowing coal. “Fuck fucking,” he thought. “Fuck everything.” He was aware of the boy’s eyes upon him, and of his hands touching him, but the feeling of urgency had dissipated. The boy could wait. Good for him to wait. Fuck, he can wait forever. Adam began to dance purely for himself. No microphone. No audience. No screams. Just his body, and the music, and a kind of soul masturbation on a dance floor where he didn’t understand a single word being sung or spoken. 

“Le temps pour venir, mon garçon delectable,” a voice whispered in his ear. Adam opened his eyes. 

“Tres delectable,” the stranger said. “Je veux couper ouvert le revers de votre culotte.” He slid his hand down the back of Adam’s pants, and made a hissing sound. “To cut them open,” he said. “How do you say? Slit?” 

But Adam had not needed the translation. And although a faint sense of apprehension darkened the golden haze in his brain he took the stranger’s hand and allowed himself to be lead. 

A big mistake. Almost immediately they got in the taxi, Adam was on red alert. Closer inspection of Yves (whose name he didn’t even know at that stage) had revealed a guy in his 30s, tall, dark eyes, thin almost lanky build, and an aquiline nose that reminded him of Adrien Brodie. Looks wise, he was a definite plus, but his demeanour had triggered alarm bells. 

He was languidly self-absorbed, paying scant attention to Adam. Even in the taxi where they sat side by side he made no effort to engage but spent the entire time talking – in French – to someone on his phone. When he did occasionally glance at Adam he nodded encouragingly, raising his eyebrows and pouting the way you do when you are promising something really good is about to happen. Adam had his doubts. He knew the type. Why the fuck had he agreed to come. He could be in very real danger, although right now he was more concerned about the danger of fantasy. This dude, sexy as fuck as he was, was treating Adam like a – like a what? Like a piece in a puzzle, in a game that was his, not Adam’s. “There’s an S&M ladder on this dude’s board, and he’s gonna make me climb it,” he thought, as he placed his hand on Yves’ knee. 

“Let’s go back to my hotel. We can have drinks there. “

But Yves shook his head, waving his hand in the air as though he either didn’t understand Adam’s English or he was too busy talking to attend. 

By the time the taxi pulled up he was still talking. He paid the taxi driver. He took Adam’s elbow and led him up stairs and into an expensive looking atrium of an apartment complex. He pushed the elevator button and it was only when the doors opened that he finished his call. He stepped inside the elevator, realised Adam was reluctant to follow, and roughly pulled him inside. 

He selected a floor, and then, finally, turned to face Adam. 

“Pourquoi ont vous peur ? Je ne veux pas que vous vous sentiez ayant peur ?”

Adam shook his head. “I don’t understand. I’m sorry.” He smiled nervously. Yves came towards him. He reached behind him and pressed a button. The elevator came to a halt but the doors didn’t open. Yves stayed in that position, one arm supporting himself on the wall behind Adam’s back. Now that he was looking into his eyes, Adam felt the same rush of arousal he had felt at the club. 

“Afraid. Is you. Afraid? Pourquoi?”

He brought his face close to Adam’s. His nostrils flared as though he was drinking up the air of Adam’s breath. Against all his better judgement, Adam felt his eyes slurring with the awakening of lust. This man was insanely sexy, as detached and unreadable as a stretch of coastline without a soul on it. As Yves tongue entered his mouth the metaphor strengthened. He felt isolated by the kiss. They might as well have been kissing on a pinnacle of rock, with breakers sounding at their feet. 

Adam felt the ligaments of his anxiety being brought to breaking point. Yves’ body remained at arms’ length. Their only contact was the kiss, and the slight pressure of Yves’ arm reaching behind him. “Okay,” he thought, as the ligature of his reservations snapped, “ I am going to fuck this man. I am going to fuck him till we both fucking drown.” 

And just as he was thinking that thought and was giving himself up to their tongues entwining and their mouths widening and their kiss deepening in the salivation of desire, - Yves abruptly withdrew. He wiped his mouth and smiled as though he knew exactly what Adam was thinking. He shook his head. 

“Non, non. Ce soir vous vous agenouillez.”

Adam put his hand on Yves’ shoulder, almost to steady himself. “Ce soir...tonight...?” he began, indicating his failure to understand.

Yves demonstrated. He pointed at the floor. He ran his hands down Adam’s body, bending down until he could rest them on Adam’s knees. He twisted his body so that he could look up at Adam’s face. “’Agenouillez,” he said. “Knees.”

“Tonight,” he said, rummaging his face in Adam’s groin before standing up and pressing the elevator release, “You will,-” he paused. His phone rang. He answered it. Yves smiled languorously at Adam, interrupting his call to say, “Ce soir, you...your knees..pour moi.” He snapped his teeth together and made a high pitched howling noise."Comme un chien. Un chiot." He laughed and resumed the call.

The elevator doors opened. Adam swallowed. He followed Yves into his apartment. He was almost shocked to find himself in such luxurious surroundings. The dude was obviously wealthy. 

"Venir. C'est où je garde mes belles choses.” Yves reached out his hand and Adam took it. 

“Come in,” Yves said with a wry smile. “This is where I keep my beautiful things.”

And Adams heart leapt, but not because it was obvious Yves could speak adequate if not perfect English. It was because his first instinct had been correct. The man collected beautiful things, and he, Adam, had just been collected...

Which was a compliment of sorts. Yves, keeping Adam’s hand in his, strolled around the room, pointing out different objects, paintings and sculptures. Despite speaking only French, Yves occasionally gave Adam questioning glances, as though seeking his opinion. Adam felt mesmerised. He found himself leaning on Yves as though they were lovers in a gallery. As his eyes took in the various objects, their colours and shapes, and as he voiced his pleasure in some, perplexity at others, he became increasingly aware of the slightest touch or pressure of Yves’ body as they moved around the room. He quizzed Yves on how to say things in French, and Yves laughed at his pronunciation, and called him ‘mon petit chiot’, whatever that meant. 

“Maintenant!” Yves gripped the sides of Adam’s arms. “Stand,” he said. He left the room and returned with a metal box. He carefully positioned it on a glass topped table in the centre of the room. He removed other objects that were on the table – and gave the box pride of place. He looked across the box, and into Adam’s eyes. “For you,” he said. "Ma fleur,' he added.

One by one he drew the sides up and out, revealing, like a conjurer’s box, a glass-sided box within, and within that box, another, smaller metal one fitting one third of the space. Yves smiled into Adam’s eyes. There was a faint sound of clicking and whirring. Slowly, magically, apertures on the surface of the metal box began to open and silver objects began to rise. Adam was captivated. The objects that rose were stems, topped by silver buds which began to mechanically open, petal by shimmering petal. 

Yves put his hands on the sides of the table. “Take off your jacket. Take off your shirt.”

Adam shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Whatever it is you want, you expect, I don’t think we’re on the same page.” He shrugged. Hearing his voice in the silence of the room had broken the spell of Yves’ physical ease. He confidently met Yves gaze, ignoring the hints of mockery he knew were hidden there and in the corners of his mouth. 

“Very well,” Yves smiled. “Je comprends. But please. Before you go to leave, let me show you my – how to say it – ‘mon belle vue’.” He walked from the room, beckoning Adam to follow. “C'est spectaculaire. Les lumières. Le fleuve ci-dessous.” 

Adam followed him down a dimly lit hall. Perhaps it was a trap, but somehow he doubted it. He could not help feeling a pang of regret as he watched Yves walking before him, so slender his clothes hung on him loosely, his gait so casual, his hands the hands of a musician, his hair long and lankly pushed behind his ears. Yves suddenly came to a double-leaved door, or perhaps it was a tall window with shutters. He opened one side, reached behind him without looking and before Adam knew what was happening he found himself outside, on the stone ledge of a window, with the wind on his face and a several storeys drop only a step away from the wall. 

Adam turned, but he was too late. Yve has slammed the window shutter shut. And there was no external handle to open it again. 

“What the fuck!” Adam was furious but for the sake of safety couldn’t gesticulate or even raise his voice. He pressed his back against the wall. He looked across the blackness. He could see lights, dark shapes, the gleam of a river behind the shadowy buildings. Yves swung himself in front of Adam, pressing hard against him. And Adam had no choice but to grab him. God, he was on the very edge of the shelf. “This is insane,” he muttered, breathing hard, torn by his need to escape the situation and the greater expediency of preventing this beautiful man from falling. Adam held Yves tighter. He closed his eyes in disbelief at that description. How could he even think that, here, on a ledge above the city, with a maniacal stranger whose name he didn’t even know, and who was pressed against him, whispering things in his ears, things he could not understand. Beautiful man!

And then it happened again. That rush of acquiescence. It was like a wave that swelled up in his loins and broke in his chest. “You trust me,” Yves said into his mouth, as they kissed for the second time. Adam looked for the answer he needed to make but it would not surface. Somewhere in his brain the danger of his situation would not surface. He might as well have been on top of a peak in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but snow and stars and sheer cliffs around him and this man singing like a wind into every pore of his body. 

Yves pulled away. He swore softly. “Now you open,” he said. Unable to speak, Adam nodded his agreement, but not with any sense of surrender or defeat. Far from it. The death drop right in front of him had become meaningless. He felt the force of his life shunting through his veins. He felt his position at that moment, for all it was so insanely precarious, was beyond reproach. 

Yves slid half across Adam’s body. “Climb,” he said. He raised his hand and pointed. “Climb,” he repeated. Adam looked. On the other side of the window ledge there was an iron fire escape. He peered upward, following it as far as he could. It rose up to a landing on the floor above. 

“Je ne vous permettrai pas de tomber. I have you. You will not fall.” Yves held Adam's free hand as he backed towards the ladder. He grabbed the sides and swing himself onto it. Below him he could see a long drop to the next landing. Not one, but two storeys below. 

"Climb,” Yves repeated, and he did. He climbed several rungs then stopped when Yves hand gripped his ankle. Yves climbed until he was covering Adam’s body with his own. “Vous devez être immobiles” Adam gripped the iron for dear life as he felt Yves pushing his legs slightly apart. He could feel the Yve twisting and turning on top of him. And then he heard a click. “Vous devez être immobiles,” Yves grunted. He arched his hips away from Adam and Adam heard rather than felt the cutting of fabric. He dared not move a muscle. He suddenly was aware of the risk Yves was taking, supporting himself, on top of Adam, on a fucking fire escape, holding on with only one hand. And he also knew the slightest move might draw blood from his buttocks or his anus, which he now knew were exposed. The cold air breathed on them. Yves rubbed his head to and fro across Adam’s back. He put the knife back in his pocket. He undid his fly. He gently tugged Adam’s hips so that his legs splayed and then pulled himself up so that Adam could feel the head of his cock knocking at the door of his anus.

Adam stared at Yves’ hand, slightly above his own, gripping the iron bar. His knuckles were white. He gently pushed his arse against Yves and pushed even harder when he felt Yves’ fingers suddenly dig inside him. Yves heaved himself up and bit into Adam’s neck, using his flesh as a stay while he eased his cock inside, only letting go when he was deeply entrenched and could swing his free arm up to hold the iron bar. 

The fire escape made clanging sounds as they thrashed against each other, each seeking the deepest possible purchase. The rungs were biting into Adam’s chest and legs. His head knocked against the iron side but he didn’t and couldn’t care. In the ultimate expression of capitulation he cried out. In his mind the abyss of his loneliness was being filled with a dark liquid. He yelped for joy. 

“Mon petit chiot,” Yves whispered against his neck. "Et ma fleur."

**Author's Note:**

> "L'étranger" by Charles de Baudelaire with translation
> 
> "Qui aimes-tu le mieux, homme énigmatique, dis? ton père, ta mère, ta sour ou ton frère?  
> Je n'ai ni père, ni mère, ni sour, ni frère.  
> Tes amis?  
> Vous vous servez là d'une parole dont le sens m'est resté jusqu'à ce jour inconnu.  
> Ta patrie?  
> J'ignore sous quelle latitude elle est située.  
> La beauté?  
> Je l'aimerais volontiers, déesse et immortelle.  
> L'or?  
> Je le hais comme vous haïssez Dieu.  
> Eh! qu'aimes-tu donc, extraordinaire étranger?  
> J'aime les nuages ... les nuages qui passent ... là-bas ... là-bas ... les merveilleux nuages!"
> 
> "Tell me, enigmatic stranger, whom do you love the best? Your father,your mother,your sister,your brother?  
> I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.  
> Your friends?  
> You are using a word whose meaning remains unknown to me to this very day.  
> Your country?  
> I do not know under what latitude it lies.  
> Beauty?  
> I would love her gladly, goddess and immortal.  
> Gold?  
> I hate it as much as you hate God.  
> Well then! What do you love, extraordinary stranger?  
> I love the clouds ... the passing clouds ... over there ... over there ... the marvellous clouds!"


End file.
